


Habit

by stilesstilerstyle



Series: One Word Bottomjohn Prompts [47]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Coming Untouched, John is very sensitive... :), M/M, Masturbation, bottomjohn, toplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3435116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilesstilerstyle/pseuds/stilesstilerstyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part of the one word bottomjohn series</p>
<p>John watches Sherlock come daily, and he can't touch himself during.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Habit

It had grown into a habit for the two of them, every single day for the past two weeks Sherlock had been doing it. Even when a case had come up, and John had thought, maybe even hoped a tiny little bit, that Sherlock would forget, or just drop the whole insane idea of it.

But he didn’t forget, he didn’t drop it, and he kept doing it every single day. John had never been able to observe Sherlock interrupting a case for anything, not food, not a shower, but  _for this_. And he did it no matter how long it would take. It creeped John out a bit, just slightly, but it also turned him on, to unexperienced levels.

Sherlock would sit opposite of John in his own armchair, he’d talk to him, sometimes normal conversation about the case he was working right at the moment, and other times…

Oh the other times. John had always loved Sherlock’s voice, no matter what he was saying, but when he talked dirty, John’s knees went weak and wobbly, and he wouldn’t have been able to stand even if he had tried.

There was only one rule to this game. John was not allowed to touch himself during the daily session. Sherlock didn’t really care what John did after, but during, if he touched himself, Sherlock would stop immediately.

Today was extremely difficult for John.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, wearing nothing but his blue silk robe, legs spread wide, his cock in hand, stroking lazily, he looked into John’s eyes, dark and hungry.

“Oh John, you don’t even know how much I would love to take you right in that chair of yours, or on the sofa, on the kitchen table, claim you, mark you, make you mine.”

John was breathing hard, and his cock was straining so badly in his jeans, it almost hurt. His jaw was slack and he was breathing hard as he watched how Sherlock stroked himself, speaking lowly with that voice of a mix of melted chocolate and pure sex.

Sherlock’s mouth curled into a smile when he saw how John’s hands, balled into fists by his sides, twitched towards his cock.

John had once made the mistake of thinking he could sneak a short palm-to-bulge-brush, but Sherlock had seen, chuckled, and stopped what he had been doing and left for his bedroom.

He had literally been begging Sherlock to come back and continue on his knees in front of his door, but it had stayed shut, and Sherlock had stayed silent for the rest of the day. Somehow John hadn’t been able to get it up anymore.

And now, he wasn’t able to get hard if he wasn’t thinking about how Sherlock was talking dirty to him, and doing to John as he was describing.

John could feel a bead of sweat roll slowly down the side of his face as he watched how Sherlock kept an intent gaze on John’s fists.

“I want you on that floor, fuck you rough and fast against it, so that you feel it for a whole week after, and can see it on your reddened skin. You would look so beautiful with my cock buried deep inside of you, your cheeks flushing red, just like they are now, and panting, moaning and begging me to fuck you harder and deeper.”

John nearly sobbed, he wanted to touch himself so badly. He watched how Sherlock’s fist sped up on his wetly glistening cock, his breath and speech getting hoarse and he was panting.

Being torn between wanting Sherlock to last longer so he would keep talking about fucking John in various places of the flat, as well as  _out of the flat_ , and him coming as fast as he could so John could get down to it, he kept watching with something close to fascination.

John felt really close himself, and he started rolling his hips, getting all the friction against his pants and jeans he could possible manage. He was moaning and panting, and he felt unimaginably hot all over.

“I would give you my cock, pound deep into you as I feel you clench around me, and I would tell you to come. Come now, John!”

And John did, crying out with pleasure, his hands were twitching at his sides as he tried to keep his eyes open to see how Sherlock fell over the edge as well.

Sherlock was shouting John’s name, still looking at him with dark eyes, and John wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a smile there.

John felt sticky, but content. He sagged back into his chair, breathing hard, barely able to believe that he had just come without using his hands at all.

Through a haze of post-orgasmic happiness he saw how Sherlock stood, and walked over to him, his hand covered with his spilled seed.

With his other hand he tilted John’s chin up and spoke lowly: “Good boy. Now we can finally get to doing all the things I described to you.”

Speechless John watched how Sherlock licked his hand covered with come, a cheeky smirk on his lips.


End file.
